


demons roll the dice angels roll their eyes

by Star_less



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is trying his best, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Papa!Crowley, Post canon, baby!Aziraphale, being fed, cradling, ironically he misbehaves, not complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 19:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: ”Their respective punishments resulted in something that was much worse than any potential side effects of switching, Crowley supposed. He would live through life with a second head or a third foot if he had to...In an attempt to escape their respective sides’ punishment, Crowley and Aziraphale switch with one another - this is the story you already know. What you don’t know, is what happens upon their switching back. Crowley is right to worry about side effects, although it ends up not quite as simple as ‘a third foot’...





	demons roll the dice angels roll their eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [sweet child of mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20494724) by [Star_less](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less). 

> Hello. I have returned. This is a switcheroo of my other de-aged GOFic, please read it if you have the chance/comment/kudos or whatever :) https://archiveofourown.org/works/20494724 - honestly I just wanted to fuss around with baby Aziraphale xD

After the armaggedon’t had happened you really would have thought that Crowley and Aziraphale would have skipped on joyfully into the sunset never to look back and simply settled back into the mundanity of life in London, plodding along with who knows else. If this sounds familiar to you that is because it really is rather familiar to you and you have heard this story once before; well done to you and might I commend your really rather fantastic choice in stories. I'm afraid, though, that I still have to bring everybody else up to speed. It won't take but a moment. Ready...?  
The armaggedon't, blah blah blah, opposing sides, switching bodies. I will plop you down just a handful of exposition away from where our last story began; in a park, in London, where an angel and a demon are devising a devious sort of body-switching plan that nobody else saw.

(Or that's what they would like to think, anyway, but I have it on good authority that they were watched very intently by a very confused Mallard.)

“Angel, d’you remember what you said about needing a body?”   
Crowley's voice carried hesitancy in it. It was a sensation he wasn't wholly fond of, hesitancy. Made his insides feel all.... bleurgh, sort of like they were going to fall out, or something. Desperation, that was another one - he hated the sensation of desperation. Or at least he hated this kind, the kind where it felt as though there was no way out and blindly stumbling down a path at random was likely to achieve very little but it was _the only choice they had_. Yet here he was, sat on a park bench, the back of his neck prickled up in response to the unsure squirms beginning in his stomach, mouth moving a hundred miles a minute fuelled by that horribly toxic mix of hesitant desperation. He was not entirely paying attention to anything he was saying. When it concerned a matter as big as this, Crowley wasn't too sure he wanted to pay much attention to it anyway.   
("Oh yes," Aziraphale responded, "I wasn't allowed to use yours.")

”...do you remember Nutter’s prophecy?”  
Crowley really rather thought he had been entirely depleted of bloody hesitancy, but there it was again, his words slathered in it. 

”Playing with fire and choosing our faces wisely...?” Aziraphale parroted. 

Crowley nodded much too quickly for his liking. He sat back with the tension forced out of his shoulders and sighed, trying to shake off the last droplets of hesitancy before he could give himself the chance to take it back entirely. “...Switch with me.”  
And there it was, the cannonball of stupid desperation in all its glory. Perhaps you are sitting there and thinking, 'that doesn't sound stupid to me, in fact it sounds quite ingenious'. Crowley thanks you very much for that.   
He also offers an explanation. See, the problem lies not with switching bodies, per se, but switching a demon and an angel. It is... simply wrong, goes against every natural rule. Admittedly very little is known about the subject other than its General Wrongness and the likelihood that the reversal would go very, very wrong indeed -- beyond your average discorporation.

Aziraphale studied Crowley’s face for just a moment and sort of looked as if he wanted to hesitate too. 

Crowley could see what he was thinking, each thought linking itself together in slow concern. No, he thought. No, no no no. Please don't give me the option to throw this away.   
“Angel,” he pleaded, “Switch with me. Death by hellfire? Agonising for an angel. But it’s like... it’s like...”  
He looked around frantically, trying to conjure up what exactly hellfire ‘was like’. 'A couple of sedentary ducks' didn't quite sum it up.“...It’s like stepping into a sauna for a demon!”  
Their respective punishments resulted in something that was much worse than any potential side effects of switching, Crowley supposed. He would live through life with a second head or a third foot if he had to; that was considerably more bearable to think of than thinking of... that. Judging by the vow of silence Aziraphale had suddenly undertaken he was lost in thought too and Crowley could only hope that he was running on the same line of thought.

“...Okay, Crowley,” the angel nodded. A tiny tickle of happiness welled within the demon at the words although he would never admit it. “This won’t take but a moment. Ready?”

Crowley nodded, flexing his hands and holding one out toward the Angel expectantly. 

The switch was instantaneous.   
“Righty-ho then.” Aziraphale beamed as the fuzzy tingles disappeared.   
(Crowley found it disturbing to see his Angel’s mannerisms, his Angel's words, come out on his face, but... it was what it was.) “...I’m off for a delightful bathe in holy water!”

Switcheroo completed, bath in holy water finished, hellfire well and truly dealt with... Crowley and Aziraphale went to the park. Where else? The park was as inconspicuous as anything. No one would be looking. No one ever looked.

”Anybody looking?” Aziraphale-as-Crowley asked just in case.

Nobody, Crowley-as-Aziraphale replied. 

“Swap back, then,” Aziraphale-as-Crowley beamed, hand outstretched.

The switch was as instantaneous as it had been a handful of hours prior. Aziraphale made the archangel Michael miracle him a towel, and asked them for a rubber duck. Crowley would have thought this quite funny, the angel thought. They were sat on a park bench and there were some ducklings that sort of looked a bit like rubber ducks. He giggled to himself and looked over to Crowley. "Bababa... adadapa!" he squealed cheerfully in between bubbles of happy laughter. 

Crowley had just settled back into the blissful feeling of his body being his again when Aziraphale's voice hit his ears and boomeranged him right back into a state of stiffened shock. The-- the b-- Aziraphale had not finished talking when Crowley's gaze whipped around to face him, a thunderously deadpan "What?!" spilling from his lips. He looked behind Aziraphale. He shifted and looked under the bench, and then frantically to the side of him. Perhaps a rather small and quite inane child had appeared while they were preoccupied with shifting? Perhaps they hadn't noticed a rather small child ambling over to them because really, small children would be quite curious about that sort of thing. But the baby that he was sat next to babbled undeterred, as though it saw nothing wrong... in Aziraphale's voice. A little higher than usual, granted, wetter, yes, adorably splattered with gurgles undeniably - but it was Aziraphale's voice nonetheless. The baby was wearing Aziraphale's clothes, even.   
That was what cinched it for the demon in fact as he was sure that no parent ever would dress their poor baby in a tartan blooming collar and if they did they should be taking a swift trip downstairs, as far as Crowley was concerned. Half a day he had spent in one and that was half a day too much.   
"Oh..." _Shit, shit, shit, SHIT._  
Crowley scooped the young Aziraphale up under the armpits, holding him high in the air. "Oh, Aziraphale...!"

Aziraphale gurgled cheerfully and dribbled all down his tartan collar. A miracle. Already so well trained, thought Crowley.  
~

In between a shock-fuelled adrenaline filled mad dash back to the bookshop, which really was the only place Crowley felt safe with Aziraphale, the demon dared to allow himself to relax a little. He dared, even, to tempt fate and -- reader I will whisper this so as not to tempt fate further -- assume that as Aziraphale was a young baby angel his behaviour would be as angelic as he was. 

That was not the case. Hell almighty that was not the case. Because Crowley had tempted Fate and Fate had seen this and laughed merrily in his face. Aziraphale had decided after a short period of being held safely and securely against Crowley's hip that he really was quite fed up of being a baby and oh how he had howled. It started off as a gentle whimper at first, pudgy baby lips pushed out in a pout, and had quickly descended (before Crowley had the chance to recognise the first wispy flames and dull them) into snotty nosed howling (yes, with the nice string of snot hanging from one nostril, of course) and then into a miserable red-faced scream - real tears streaming down his cheeks, the lot. "Oh, Angel please..." Crowley's voice was knit together in pleading as he rocked and bounced the chubby one-year-old in his arms. He wasn't quite sure where he had learned this but it seemed to come natural to him as the baby cried his newly-baby heart out. "I'm not murdering you, be quiet. You're okay, you're safe here." he rambled, twirling slowly with Aziraphale to give the baby a 360 view of the bookshop. Hopefully, if Crowley crossed his fingers hard enough, the baby would recognise this as one of his safe spaces. The screaming faltered a little bit as Crowley spun, dipped back into gentle-whimper territory. For a moment Crowley was foolish and allowed himself to relax, watching as Aziraphale's gaze tracked the bookshop. "You see?" he murmured, his voice dipped low and soft and sweet, "Safe."

Unfortunately Crowley had tempted Fate once more and Fate cackled to himself, jabbing his cruel finger into the baby's cheek. Aziraphale's lip began to tremble and his face crumpled up all pitiful and wet. Crowley's face fell as the baby's did and his breath caught in his throat. Frantic, he began to rock the baby a little faster. "No, no, nononono... sssssh, 'Zira..." he pleaded. 

The baby collapsed into screaming hysterics again.   
Crowley almost felt like agreeing with the baby and deciding he could let out a wail of anguish of his own. He rubbed his temples.

"Poor love," said a passer by, discarding the book she was leafing through. "When my wee bairn cries like that he needs feeding," she said, poking Aziraphale's podgy baby belly and then pulling him out of Crowley's arms before Crowley could do so much as get a word in. "Is that right, chickie, are you hungwee?" she cooed, head bent over the baby, voice raised a few octaves. "Is Papa not feeding you?"   
Crowley scowled. Hearing her speak in a tone probably only dogs could hear was one thing, but her insulting his parenting was another thing entirely. He snatched the (now blessedly quiet) bundle from the woman and grumbled to himself as she left. He had looked after the Antichrist for a whole half an hour when he was a few hours old and he had turned out just fine, thankyouverymuch.   
"...Are you hungry?" he asked Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale hummed in confusion, blinking up at Crowley with those big blue eyes of his.

"Yes, I thought so." Crowley nodded, even if Aziraphale did not confirm or deny any of his suspicions. Clutching the bundle to his chest, they left the bookshop.  
~

"Well I'm sorry, it's all they had."   
Crowley turned a plastic spoon around and around in a jar. The jar was filled with some slightly lumpy looking brown mush, with some suspicious looking green and yellow lumps peeping out of it. Aziraphale was not quite sure he wanted to put any of this into his mouth and had been making this decision vehemently clear for the last ten minutes. Yuk.   
...Crowley wasn't too sure he would put any in his mouth either, but if it put a plug in Aziraphale's wailing he was going to damn well pretend it was Michelin starred.  
The label had 'VEGETABLE MOUSSAKA' written on it in garish letters and yes, a small cloud of steam carried the pleasant aroma of vegetable moussaka around the bookshop, so perhaps this lumpy mush had at least been shown a carrot once in its pitiful little life. Crowley scooped a small spoonful of the Dreaded Mush up and waved it enticingly at Aziraphale, watching for any signs of an open mouth. "The lady in the store said it was yummy, remember?" he offered hesitantly.   
Aziraphale turned his head.   
Crowley swooped in on the other direction.  
Aziraphale turned his head again.  
Crowley finally swallowed every shred of his pride and waved the spoon in the direction of Aziraphale's mouth. "Vrrrmmm... beep beep..." he deadpanned, "Open up for the Bentley, like a good boy..."

Aziraphale laughed his first genuine bubble of a laugh; laughing at him or with him Crowley was unsure but he had a sinking feeling of dread that it was the former. Still, the demon took his chance and swooped the full spoonful into his celestial baby’s open and awaiting mouth before settling back with a smug smile. Ha! Of course, he could easily outsmart Aziraphale when he was a ba—

“Bleh!” Crowley had tricked him! Tricked him and _poisoned_ him! The pearl of moussaka on his tongue was positively— positively— YUK!  
Aziraphale’s face really was a picture - scrunched up entirely, eyes shut tight, nose crinkled, mouth puckered. It really was quite a shame that Crowley had missed it—because as the baby cooed in disgust did he spit out the mouthful of mushy Moussaka he was holding in his mouth. For such a pathetic spoonful it had an impressive velocity; splattering a warm mushy puddle in beautifully slow motion over Crowley’s face.   
The demon had to, very slowly, blink peas out of his eyes... and when he was granted with the miracle of vision once more there Aziraphale was, sat high on his plastic throne (actually a high chair which he had been guilted into buying by the store clerk) and laughing. Actually laughing. He had the absolute audacity, to laugh?! 

“I’m guessing it’s no Grouse..?” Crowley asked weakly, flicking a globule of mashed potato from his cheek. “Sorry, but they hardly serve the Ritz’ finest, Angel. It’s _baby food_. You’re a baby!”

Aziraphale grumbled, chewing and dribbling over his plastic spoon instead. Quite frankly it tasted better than whatever Crowley was trying to force into him. Then Crowley looked as if he was going to lift him out of the high chair, so Aziraphale spat out his plastic spoon and obediently raised his arms.  
With a sigh Crowley lifted the infant out of his high chair and plopped him down on all fours on the floor of the bookshop. ‘Go and entertain yourself,’ he tried to say but bit it back even as he watched Aziraphale wobble around on unsteady, unused legs. Somehow it felt a little bit cruel; even if he didn’t quite know how to entertain a baby. 

An undeterred Aziraphale crawled over to the corner of the bookstore without Crowley, grasping thick chunks of carpet as he went to make sure he didn’t topple over into his face. Though the shaggy carpet kissed and tickled his sensitive palms and so every now and then he would topple over into amused gurgles and lose his balance anyway.   
Eventually he made it over to the bookshelf. This particular bookshelf was never his favourite as an adult and he had always handwaved it when he was looking for a new book to scrutinise; but something about the glimmering leather-bound books caught his eye this time. He grabbed out for the closest one with starfished hands, let it fall onto the carpeted floor with a thud, and peered intently at the cover. Puss in Boots, it said, in neatly stencilled gold letters. But Aziraphale did not know that for he was a baby and, ethereal being or not, he could not read.   
As I’m sure you know, babies interact with their environment primarily through the senses when they are unable to communicate verbally. This includes mouthing and touching.  
...Which was exactly what Aziraphale was doing. He thudded the dustjacket— which made a pleasing thwick! noise as he did so. At the same time a puffy cloud of dust wafted up from beneath the plastic jacket and tingled in his little nose.   
T’choo! he sneezed  
then giggled...  
...then hit the dust jacket again. Thwick. That was a very good noise indeed.   
This little game continued for a short while and entertained Aziraphale for a short while, too, but eventually it stopped teasing giggles out of him. Still he studied the book. It was very heavy and even if he grabbed at it with both chubby hands he could only lift it a teeny weeny bit. Plopping onto his belly in defeat Aziraphale only had one more thing to do... eyeing the red, pointed corners of the book he opened his mouth and brought his gums down fiercely on it. Now, Aziraphale as a grown up would have likely had a temper tantrum of his own at such a horrible display, but as he was a baby he really had no opinion on the matter, other than...  
Hmm. It tasted of.. paper. Old paper, and dust. Marginally better than whatever mush Crowley had attempted to placate him with earlier on, actually. 

“..Angel, no!” Crowley whipped to his side before Aziraphale could gum up the book any more than he had already, lifting him up under the armpits and outright cringing. Good G— Sa— somebody, Aziraphale was going to kill him when he found out what he had let himself do to the books. “Don’t play with those!”   
Aziraphale looked toward Crowley all beautiful blue eyes, confusion glinting in the corners, and all of a sudden Crowley felt a pang in his heart that made him want to give in entirely. What was wrong with him?! He must’ve been going soft. Urgh. “They aren’t toys.”  
The tiny voice in the back of his head said that, well, Aziraphale didn’t have any toys to begin with, so who in hell could blame him?

Aziraphale took this news blessedly well considering he was a young and rather whingey one year old. He studied Crowley’s face and took in the news, watching Crowley’s pink lips shape the words with brow-furrowing concentration. Then he studied the rest of Crowley’s face, as if he was taking it in for the first time. His pretty red hair... his pretty pink lips... his funny looking bug eyes... Crowley was still talking but his voice floated away away away from Aziraphale’s ears and all he could see was the movement of his mouth. A wobbly smile of amusement came across his face as he clapped his little hand over Crowley’s moving lips in an attempt to make them stop. 

“I’m sorry, Azi, maybe we ca-MMmpft-!”   
Aziraphale had hit Crowley. Crowley had made a very funny noise indeed! Aziraphale burst into giggles, bouncing in Crowley’s arms. He hit him again, and again and it became something of a game to him to tease more of those silly noises out of Crowley.   
Crowley only ever let him because as a child Aziraphale’s strength was quite pitiful and it didn’t hurt whatsoever.   
...Definitely not because he had a sickly sweet flood of pride whenever Aziraphale giggled at him. What are you talking about? Stop it, right now.  
Aziraphale’s hand peppered Crowley’s face with weak hits until he came to the bug eyes, and then the baby stopped and recoiled. Up close, they looked a little bit scary. He gave them a hesitant slap, and in reaction they tilted, lopsided, off of Crowley’s face. Oh. So the bug eyes came off. “Don’t touch my glasses—!” Crowley reprimanded and, one handed, tried to slide the glasses back up to cover his eyes - but Aziraphale wasn’t listening whatsoever because underneath the bug eyes—glasses, that’s what they were!—Crowley had very pretty yellow eyes, perhaps the prettiest Aziraphale had ever seen, and he sort of wished he could get a closer look.   
It became apparent that Crowley had a rather large misconception about Aziraphale and that was his strength. While Aziraphale had essentially been tapping him, he was still very much strong enough to swipe Crowley’s glasses from where they had slid off of his face, grip them even tighter when Crowley tried to adjust them, and then yank them out of Crowley’s hands entirely. Gurgling cheerfully, he snapped open the glasses. Then snapped them shut. Then... well, then he just plain snapped them.  
...There! Now he could get a closer look at Crowley’s pretty yellow eyes!

“How... are you so strong?” Crowley squeaked, disbelief taking his breath away. 

Luckily, he had some spares.   
~

Here’s a fun fact for you, albeit a very well known one: a baby’s crying comes purely on instinct. This happens no matter if the baby is human, animal or something entirely different, such as our angel Aziraphale. In turn the crying produces an instinctive maternal reaction to pick up, nurse, or soothe the child. Again, this occurs no matter whether your baby is human, animal, or something else entirely. Here is a slightly lesser well known fact for you; the relentless, screaming cry that babies often produce (in between the whining cry, the ‘I'm hungry and wet’ cry or the ‘I want to destroy your notion of a peaceful night’s sleep altogether’ cry) was not programmed in, so to speak, when God created Life. That little addition came from one of the men downstairs. Hastur specifically, who got a promotion for it.   
And some ear plugs.

Aziraphale was crying again. Crowley found it unbearable because Lord, did he have a decent set of pipes on him. He could scream and scream until his face was blood red and still go in for more, and then oh how it would ring for hour upon hour in your ears. He had been fed, he had been entertained, he had even been changed (despite the fact he did not smell funny) and still he liked to cry as though Crowley had a gun to his forehead, the bleeding wretch. Or at least that was what Crowley thought. Unbeknownst to the demon he was experiencing those exact instinctive reactions - and the rather torturous realisation that he wasn’t soothing Aziraphale after all. The child was bundled up in his arms, red-faced and sweaty and wet with tears, and no amount of mopping up his face, bouncing, rocking, cooing or pleading to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star for him to ‘please shhhh’ helped. “Oh Angel, please...” he pleaded, rhythmically patting the child’s back and watching as he writhed and alternated between letting out a bellow and rubbing at his eyes with two chubby fists. “I know you’re tired, please just sleep!”  
This was ridiculous, Crowley thought, catching a glimpse of himself in the windowpane and seeing a rather helpless looking version of himself staring back. Helplessness; that was another to add to the list of ‘sensations Crowley didn’t like’. He had babysat the _Antichrist_, for Satan’s sake! Surely the Antichrist had had a decent cry...? It had been so long ago now that Crowley remembered very little, other than they were in the car...  
A tear dribbled down Aziraphale’s chubby cheek and pressed into Crowley’s jacket, and Crowley sighed against the band of stress pulsing in his forehead. “Come on, Angel.”

Aziraphale choked out an ‘uh?’ in between his wailing.

”The car, Angel.” Crowley said. “We’re going in the car.”  
~

Rain hit the roof of the Bentley noisily and staggered down the windows afterwards. Aziraphale was still screaming, but something about being in the car sunk deep into Crowley’s soul and he really felt a little more at peace. “Shhh, Angel,” he murmured, “You’re safe, just go to sleep.”  
...it wasn’t working. When the Antichrist was in the car he was positively angelic compared to Aziraphale, which was ironic in itself. What was he doing wrong...? Was he doing something wrong...?  
”Think!” He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, frustrated. What did Aziraphale do to relax when he wasn’t baby-sized? Drink tea? Read? Crowley’s eyes moved frenetically around the dashboard, almost wishing a solution would magic itself up right there in front of him.   
Head pounding, it took an achingly long time for his eyes to connect with his radio. M- music...? Babies liked music, right...? Hell, if anything, it would drown out the sounds of his crying... Crowley fiddled with the knob of the radio, one eye on the road.   
Aziraphale geared up for a spectacular crescendo of a cry, wriggling and wailing with the warning sign of his voice building louder and louder. 

“OOH LOVE, OOH LOVERBOY” blasted the radio, swiping the screaming cry out of Aziraphale’s mouth before he could even vocalise it. Aziraphale jumped a mile high and fell to keening and whimpering like a puppy— a noise which somehow tugged even tighter at Crowley’s heart than the screaming-crying did. “Oh, shit. Shshshsh!” He spat out through gritted teeth, winding the radio down to a humming-level. He hummed along tunelessly to the song as he drove. 

The car fell to blissful silence.   
It took a long and slow moment for Crowley to even register that his head was not pounding in time with furious wailing.   
But no, it was no illusion. Crowley could count the sounds he heard on one hand.   
The spitting of the rain on the window.   
The crunching of the road under the tires.   
Queen, humming out not-your-average lullaby.   
Aziraphale, quiet. When Crowley dared peep back at the child, a smile prickled at the corners of his mouth to see the Angel, eyelids drooping, drool gathering on his plump and slightly parted lips. One chubby hand rested on his face and he mouthed at it as though it was a pacifier, relaxing bonelessly into sleep.  
...Crowley thanked every deity there ever was to physically exist that his angelic, blessedly quiet boy was returning once more. Crowley really quite thought that a miracle had taken place here all of its own accord. Strictly speaking, he was mistaken; after all, parents up and down the country know the magic of a car ride. If we are to get scientific about it, the gentle rocking motion of the car as it moves is enough to make the fussiest of babies calm down. Add in a sprinkle of white noise—or in this case the ever-soothing tones of a British rock band—and baby will be out for the count.

Hmm. Perhaps—just perhaps—we will let Crowley be correct on this one, after all. It is an angelic miracle in all but name.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comment if you liked this. This is a bit rushed, I’m sorry. I go on holiday tomorrow and I wrote this purely to de-stress. More is on the way if you like that sort of thing. //ducks away from rotten apples//


End file.
